Scotoma
by pratz
Summary: "Hence, when the one person who absurdly makes a simple act like breathing difficult just by being there tilts her head and blond hair spills over one shoulder, Rachel decides to go straight to business." A follow-up on Eighteen and Beautiful and Dancing, but can be read alone. Set in the episode Nationals.


**Scotoma**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: RIB's.

Summary: Just before Nationals, Rachel has this one favor to ask Quinn. A follow-up to _Eighteen and Beautiful and Dancing_. Set in the episode _Nationals_.

Note: This is what you got when you couldn't sleep and decided to watch the last two episodes. Well, I might have developed my own Faberry scotoma. Because, you see, there's this girl who's just recovering from a severe injury, relearning to walk, and suddenly is dancing and more—she's singing backing vocal for a number when she can actually use the time to rest.

-.-.-.-

_Scotoma (n): an area of diminished vision within the visual field; a blind spot in psychological awareness._

-.-.-.-

Breathing should not have been this difficult, Rachel thinks.

It should have been a simple process of moving air in and out of the lungs. Leave all the work to the lungs. Let their alveoli exchange gas. Let them complete the process by delivering oxygen through blood to every single cell in the body. Let them remove carbon dioxide and start all over again. Normal, relaxed breathing should have been simple like that.

Only, it is not that simple at the moment.

Hence, when the one person who absurdly makes a simple act like breathing difficult just by _being there_ tilts her head and blond hair spills over one shoulder, Rachel decides to go straight to business.

"I need a favor."

Quinn nods once, wordlessly asking her to continue.

"I want—" she swallows, fiddling with the folds of her red dress, "I need you to be on the stage when I sing."

Her inner struggle is rewarded with that famous, elegant eyebrow arch. "I'll be there dancing. I told you."

"I'm fully aware of that," she says, noticing the slight edge on Quinn's voice that two years ago will have already given way to exasperation. "But this—it's different. You know we're going to start with _Edge of Glory_, and while it's going to be a challenging task, the number that follows is more challenging." _For me_, she adds silently.

Quinn is quiet—Rachel hopes it is not her relapsing back to her short fuse mode just like in their sophomore year. She almost throws herself into ranting a series of detailed explanation when Quinn raises a hand in time, immediately cutting her off from the possibility of even starting.

"It's your solo," Quinn says.

Deep down, Rachel hears _'It's going to be your first solo since your botched NYADA audition, your first time standing on your own after you let one slip cost you the chance of New York, your first step to prove that you're not giving up your dream__.'_

She sees Quinn sways slightly, almost invisible to any eyes unfamiliar with the story of how Quinn survives one hell of an accident, and it serves as a reminder that she risks herself a big time for whatever outcome she may get from asking this favor from Quinn.

_We fell. We were bruised and battered. But you learned. You learn to pick yourself up. You learn to face the storm, grit your teeth, and stand tall. And I'm going to get this right. I mean, how can I not? How can I not do this when you've been so strong and you've taught me that much? I know I can do this, but to do this I need you to be there._

That, of course, goes unsaid just like always, but it does not matter. Words are simple. Words are useable. Words hold power over those who are spoken to. This? This is beyond simplicity and uses and power. This is what she has with Quinn, shapeless and invisible as it is.

"You know you're pushing your luck a bit too much, don't you?"

The words may come off callous, but the tone is anything but. In fact, it is harmless. Lighthearted. Almost teasing, even. Then when a small smile tugs at the corners of Quinn's mouth, she feels air—Quinn-air and Quinn-oxygen and Quinn-life—whooshes back into her lungs, her ability to breathe returning. To her that only fortifies the fact of how easy it is for Quinn to make a difference.

Quinn bends a little at the waist, patting her left knee. "I might sue you for taking advantages from a diffable."

"You won't," she says, though she does not dismiss the possibility of her request may be a literally painful one for Quinn. Yet she needs this—strongly, selfishly, wholeheartedly. "The dance for _Edge of Glory_ is a kind of Herculian labor for you, but there's no one else I can ask this favor from but you." She pauses, unable to help the confident hope from pouring into her voice. "You won't bail on me."

Quinn does not have a chance to answer as an announcement blares from the speakers, telling all competing groups to round up for the opening ceremony, but Rachel sees her bite her lip. It is a Quinn-esque gesture of thinking she is so familiar with, and the last time she sees it, Quinn decides to come to a wedding—hers—which she has vehemently opposed.

_Quinn will be there,_ she tells herself. _She will._

Yet somehow her confidence from exactly an hour ago wanes bit by bit as her fellow glee members wrap _Edge of Glory_, with Quinn standing in the middle of the group, and the light dimes. Finn pulls her aside for a pep talk, and she swallows gingerly as his words fall on deaf ears. Her steps falter for a moment as she comes nearer and nearer to the stage. Brittany passes her, giving her a small smile, and Santana nods once in a silent encouragement. Tina and Sugar rush past her to take their respective places on the stage. Everybody she sees wishes her the best. Everywhere she sees bleeds with anticipation and expectation. Everything she sees looks like an invitation to a beheading. (1)

She wonders if seeing is related to breathing.

Then there is a hand on the sparse skin between her shoulder blades. Tentative yet supportive. Familiar. Warm. She sucks in a deep breath, almost quivering under the pressure of having to be on the stage again and the equal amount of relief of going to have Quinn there.

Quinn says nothing and Rachel does not really see her, but that is all she needs to be herself again. From the periphery of her sight, she sees Quinn take a glance at her just before she sings the line, 'I finished crying in the instant that you left.' Quinn's small nod is imperceptible, but it is enough to give her the reassurance that Quinn is willing to brace three more wearing minutes _for her_. Then it does not matter even if, say, she has to fight tooth and nail to prove to Jesse that she is fully capable of performing. It does not matter even if, say, Carmen Tibideaux does not show up and give her the second chance she knows she does not really deserve. It does not matter even if, say, she has to literally crawl to New York to realize her dream. What matters is she is herself again.

The song ends with thunderous applause, and she quickly takes her exit to prepare for the last number. She passes Quinn in the backstage, and she halts. She knows she should say something, anything, but Quinn beats her as she once again places her supportive, familiar, warm hand on her back. This time, Rachel really sees her—sees everything that makes Quinn Fabray.

Quinn leans closer to whisper on her ear, and Rachel does not need to see Quinn's smile to know it is there.

"I don't bail."

Breathing has never been easier.

-.-.-.-

(1) _An Invitation to a Beheading_ is a novel by Vladimir Nabokov.


End file.
